


Especially Not To You

by maniacalmole



Series: Farsighted [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, M/M, New demons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:35:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7430337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maniacalmole/pseuds/maniacalmole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two demons plan to get revenge on Crowley by playing with his, and Aziraphale's, doubts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Especially Not To You

**Author's Note:**

> You don't have to have read Paradise Left before this story--I only put them in the same series because there are some parallels between them. Basically, they take place in the same universe, but Paradise Left is a few millennia before this one.

                There was the world.

                There was the city. The human construction of networks stretching across the Earth with webs of cement and glass, buildings reaching high to touch the cloudy sky. It was morning, and the streetlights were still on, the fog softening their rays. The bright reds matched the red and blue and silver cars weaving their way through the maze of streets and buildings, like ants through a forest of grass. Most of the walls were off-white or grey, some were all windows of blue glass. But the flyers and posters tacked on every post, the signs and ads, were all made of bright colors, depicting the new things people had created for themselves, telling everyone what they could be adding to their lives. Showing what the humans were up to these days.

                Crowley walked down the street, taking it all in. The sky was grey, but it hadn’t rained yet. It was early enough that the city wasn’t too crowded. He whistled a tune.

                He’d been taking more walks since the world hadn’t ended. It had been over a year. That shouldn’t have felt long to a demon, but it seemed safely in the past, anyway. Some things were different, but some things hadn’t changed. Some hadn’t as much as he’d hoped they would. He was in a good mood, though, so he pushed those thoughts out of his mind.

                Because of Adam’s promise, management had never gotten in touch with Crowley about his job performance during the almost-Apocalypse. This was why, when Crowley saw two figures turning the street corner in front of him, and saw that they were definitely not human, no matter how much they tried to look it, he tried not to worry. They were huddled together and wearing heavy coats and scarves, but Crowley did not need to see their faces to know they were demons. He had run into a few here and there, but they always avoided him, casting him dirty glances at the worst. He imagined these two would do the same, and he was almost home.

                His building was right ahead. The demons were too close for him to ignore. Begrudgingly, he started to raise a hand to wave.

                “Hey—“ he started to say, but he was cut off by having the wind knocked out of him by a fist to the gut.

                The next thing he knew, the two had surrounded him, each grabbing an arm. They were dragging him back towards his flat.

                “What in—?” He struggled, but they were too strong. He tried to think of something threatening to say. “Bugger off! I mean it, let me go! I’m warning you—“

                He stopped when the taller figure looked him in the eye for the first time. Crowley saw the loathing in his face, and gulped.

                “This has been a long time coming, Crawly,” the tall demon growled, and they pushed him through the door into his building.

                Crowley tried to fight back, kicking wildly, shoving them against the wall, but it was no good. The tall one was clearly a higher level demon than him. Crowley summoned all the infernal power that he had, something he had not used in ages. It was just enough to get them to let go, but they still had him cornered.

                “You can’t overpower both of us,” said the taller one, who looked vaguely like the human version of a villainous lion created by Disney.

                “Wanna bet?” Crowley appraised them both as they started to creep back towards him. The other was still wrapped in several layers of coats and scarves, but he could tell that she was a woman, and he could sense a frenzied desire for chaos radiating off of her. The other demon reeked of rage. Crowley did not like his odds. “Besides,” he said, “I bet your superiors down Below wouldn’t be too happy if they knew you were here, would they?” He was grasping at straws. He knew that Adam had said not to worry, and had assumed that meant he was granted security from Hell. His present situation was making him doubt that.

                The male demon grinned. “Oh, they’re already on our case. But they haven’t found us yet. And they won’t until we’re finished with you, Serpent.”

                _Ah_. Crowley bit his lip. _Rogues_.

                _Shit_.

                “So,” he said. “’Until we’re finished with you.’ Doesn’t sound like a friendly visit, then. I feel I should warn you, you should never go against a serpent when death is on the line.” It was from _The Princess Bride_. It was all he could think of. He was guessing neither of them had seen it.

                The short demon was holding a contraption, something that looked like a steampunk spray bottle. It was obviously made by someone who wanted it to give the impression of impregnability, and who had no idea what spray bottles were normally used for. Crowley knew exactly what was in it.

                “I suppose you want me to be afraid of that?” he said, gesturing to it.

                “Don’t pretend you’re not,” the tall demon sneered. “One spritz of this, and you’re liquefied. Do you remember what Hell was like when we first arrived, Crawly? Do you remember the burning? Because the heat of that burning lake was nothing to what you’ll feel if we spray you with this.”

                Crowley swallowed. “Mm. Holy water. Trying to give me a taste of my own medicine, are you?” He gave what he hoped was a nonchalant laugh. “But then, I can always do this.”

                He waved his hand.

                Nothing happened.

                “Trying to smash the bottle? It’s covered in half the anti-demonic-activity sigils known to man. Glasya here looked them up.”

                The other demon nodded what was presumably her head frantically. Crowley’s face fell.

                “Listen,” he said to them, trying to edge around them towards the doorway. “I know I may have done some stuff the rest of you guys aren’t so happy with. Maybe you’re peeved the big war didn’t happen after all. But look around. There’s so much to do on this planet for a, erm, young, dashing pair of demons like yourselves.”

                “This isn’t about the war, you worm!”

                Crowley jumped, and the demons approached him again, forcing him to move backwards.

                “This is about what you’ve done after.”

                With the threat of holy water, they marched Crowley farther into his flat, then all the way back into his bedroom. Glasya, for good measure, gave him a good shove to get him past the doorway. They both stood back and grinned. Crowley tried to keep his cool, but he kept eying the bottle nervously.

                “So, what exactly are you killing me for?”

                “We’re not just going to kill you. We’re going to _destroy_ you.” The tall demon began to pace the hallway outside of Crowley’s bedroom, while Glasya stared at him unnervingly with her finger on the spray bottle’s trigger.

                Crowley got a good look at them for the first time. Glasya had unburied herself from her mounds of clothing. She looked like the manic, never-blinking sort of person that had supposedly inspired old depictions of witches, though in reality witches were always sure to take much better care of their hair. They also would have had no need to look so hysterical, as they were always in remarkably good possession of their senses. This demon clearly was not. Crowley recognized the other one as a prominent demon—a marquess, or something—named Aamon.

                Crowley tried to pull himself together. The others leered at him. “What do you want? If this is about the end of the world, you should be happy I saved it. A marquess of Hell can have much more fun on earth than in a war.”

                “I’m not a marquess anymore,” Aamon spat. His expression changed as he examined Crowley, taking a moment to revel in his situation. His face twisted into a sour smirk. “It’s not really fair, is it?” he said. “I form a ‘liaison’ with one human, and I lose my title, my respect. Everything. You form a ‘relationship’—one that’s _much_ more _revolting_ —and what do the others say? Nothing!” He slammed his hand against the wall. Then, he turned slowly and grinned. “But we’ll fix that.”

                “What are you talking about?” Crowley eyed the two, but he could not spot any weaknesses that he could take advantage of to escape. “I haven’t formed a ‘relationship’ with any humans.”

                “Not humans. Even more disgusting. You’ve been cavorting with an _angel_.”

                Crowley’s stomach dropped. All attempts to escape were forgotten, pushed away by his surprise, and a sudden pain in his gut. His voice came out quiet. “No, I haven’t.”

                “Don’t lie to me!” Aamon roared. “I’ve been watching you. You were at his residence only a fortnight ago.”

                “I—“ Crowley winced. “That was just….”

                It was just dinner. Well, that wouldn’t exactly convince them. They wouldn’t know how frustratingly meaningless dinner could be. How intensely lonely….

                _Snap out of it_ , he thought. _Talk your way out of this. You have to_. He looked towards the other demon.

                “What are _you_ here about?” Crowley asked her.

                “Glasya? She’s just here for fun,” Aamon answered. Glasya grinned and nodded so quickly that it was a wonder her rotting teeth did not fall out. Crowley pressed his tongue against his own teeth and cringed.

                “All right, listen,” he said to Aamon. “I’m telling you the truth. There’s nothing between—that angel is not in a relationship with me. We only see each other every month or so.” _It shouldn’t seem like a long time for a demon_ , he reminded himself bitterly. “And even when we do, it’s just for, um. Business reasons.”

                “What business could you have with an angel?” Glasya spat.

                “You faced our master with him,” Aamon said.

                “Yeah, and you know, I can see why you’d think that might mean something.” Crowley rolled his eyes and threw up his arms. “But apparently, it doesn’t. I mean. It doesn’t. Erm, really.”

                Aamon stared at him. “I’ve heard that the two of you held each other’s hand.”

                Crowley sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Glasya pointed the bottle at him, as though afraid he was going to try something, but when he looked up again, even the other demons were surprised by his look of defeat.

                “If you asked him,” Crowley replied darkly, “I’d bet he wouldn’t even remember.”

                “Oh, we’ll ask him.”

                The two demons laughed.

                Crowley frowned. Then his heart skipped a beat. Some light returned to his eyes. “You’re not going to attack _him_?”

                “So you do care.”

                Crowley made a start for the doorway, but Glasya pushed him back.

                “Caring isn’t the same as being in a ‘relationship’. You can’t take him. He’s a Principality. Holy water won’t work on him.”

                “We’re not going to attack him.” Aamon started pacing again. “Filth though he is. But he may not like what we have to say to him.”

                Crowley wondered what Aziraphale would think if he heard that these people had killed him. They may not have gotten as close as he’d thought they would, after facing the end of the world together. Still….

                “How are you going to tell him?” Crowley asked. “I doubt he’s going to invite you over for tea.”

                “But I’m sure he’ll respond to your invitation, which we left on his doorstep this morning. In fact, he should be here any minute now.”

                Crowley’s face darkened. “You didn’t.”

                Then he added, in a strained voice, “And why did you have to leave him a written invitation? On his _doorstep_? What do you think this is, the 1800s?”

                “But he’ll come anyway,” Aamon snapped. “Because he trusts you, doesn’t he? Fool, for trusting a demon. But we’ll show him where he went wrong. How do you think he will feel, this ‘business partner’ of yours, when we tell him that you’ve been using him? That everything you’ve said to him has been a lie, and you were playing him all along, just like demons normally do? Like demons are _supposed_ to do?”

                “I—“

                “Because that’s what we’re going to tell him. That you’re a spy, Crawly. In fact, you’re worse than a spy, but I think telling him that you’ve been talking to him under Hell’s orders will hurt him enough. _That_ is what you’ve been doing, snake. Hurting. A demon, growing attached to an angel. What did you think was going to happen? Pain could be the only outcome. Really, when we tell him that you never cared for him, we’ll be doing the both of you a favor.”

Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose and grimaced. He remembered words said over a year ago. _‘I can’t put it any better than that. Especially not to you’_. He thought about how he was the only one who ever tried to set up any meeting between them these days.  _‘Don’t you try to tempt me.’_ He thought about ‘ethereal’ versus ‘occult’. Aziraphale always correcting him. Every laugh being a nervous one. _‘I know you, you old serpent.’_

                Aamon slammed the door shut before Crowley could think. He grabbed the doorknob, but he could tell that they had locked it in a way he would not be able to undo. He had to try anyway. He took a few steps back, then ran forward. He rammed his shoulder against his bedroom door, putting his full body weight into it.

                “Let me out!” he shouted. His shoulder burned, but he ran at the door again. “Let—me—OUT!”

                On the other side of the door, Glasya snickered. Aamon frowned.

                “Hmm.” He stroked his chin. He had seen just enough of the human world to understand that pointed beards were necessary for looking sinister. “Perhaps we ought to do something about all of that. Soundproof it.”

                Glasya snapped her fingers. The bedroom door sealed itself. Glasya gave a cackle and looked even more like a mad fraggle.

                “Now,” Aamon continued, smiling and twirling his beard around his finger, “there will be no more from _you_. You may scream and cry all you like, but your precious angel will never hear you. And I’ll be blessed if he ever finds out that the awful things we tell him were anything but lies!”

                There was silence. Glasya shuffled her feet a bit. She looked up at her companion awkwardly.

                “Er—he can’t hear us, sir.”

                “Ah.” He dropped his hand to his side. “Yes.”

                “Perhaps we ought to soundproof it from one side only?”

                “Quite.” He waved his hand lazily. “There. _Now_ the angel won’t be able to hear you, but you can still hear his cries of dismay, and so on, and so forth….” He sighed and turned to his companion. “It gets a bit less amusing when you’ve already goaded them once, don’t you agree?”

                But this time, Crowley could hear the other demon’s cackles. He shuddered, then turned, leaning his back against the door, letting himself sink down to the ground.

                Meanwhile, the other two had been startled by a knock at the door to the apartment. Grinning at each other darkly, they put on their menacing demeanors of bureaucratic evil and advanced.

                Aamon leaned towards the door. “Who is it?” he asked, in a dreadful impression of Crowley’s voice that, even in this state of emergency, managed to make the serpent cringe even more.

                A muffled, flustered voice came from the hall. “Don’t be silly, Crowley. Let me in.”

                Glasya hid the spray bottle behind a chair, and Aamon opened the door and took a few hasty steps backward. In walked an umbrella on top of a roundish torso, corduroy pants, and very wet shoes. The umbrella spoke. “It’s raining out here like you wouldn’t believe, I almost thought I’d woken up on the day of the Flood again, I—“ In a shower of water droplets, the umbrella had closed, and a frazzled man was now staring at the demons. His mouth remained open. With a wave of her hand, Glasya closed the door behind him. Aziraphale frowned.

                “I’m sorry. Whom might I be addressing?”

                “You might say we’re some of Crowley’s colleagues,” Aamon said.

                “Aziraphale!” Crowley screamed. Those outside heard nothing.

                “I see,” Aziraphale replied. “Erm. Interrupting a business meeting, am I?”

                “Actually,” Aamon said with a nasty sneer, “our business here is just wrapping up.”

                Aziraphale had been looking around the room, and had concluded that Crowley was definitely not there. The atmosphere shifted. Humans would have said that Aziraphale’s expression became darker, but to the demons, there was a sort of barely perceivable light emanating from him. The kind that could wipe out servants of Hell in one bright blaze, if it were turned up high enough. It was the kind of light that reminded them, he was a Principality, and much stronger than they were.

                Glasya gulped, but Aamon only let his fear show for a split second. He was not there to fight the angel. His plan was to get him listening before he attacked, and then, to let his words do the trick.

                “Is that so?” Aziraphale said. “If that is the case, then might I ask, why does Crowley not appear to be at home?”

 _He doesn’t trust them_ , Crowley thought. He could hear the ice in his voice. _That’s a start_.

                Aamon laughed. “You really think this is his home?” He spread his arms wide to gesture at the whole flat. “This tiny space cramped in the middle of a city, surrounded by human scum? Human-made trash decorating it? _Potted plants?_ ”

                Crowley paused in his attempts to break a hole in the wall to scream, “Don’t fucking touch my potted plants!” He waited a moment, and when he heard no crash of broken pottery, he resumed. He wasn’t making any progress. They had strengthened every window and wall against him.

                “No,” Aamon went on. “Demons have no home here, nor anywhere. We belong only to Hell. Or did you forget that?”

                “You’re not answering my question,” Aziraphale said. “Where is Crowley?”

                “I thought I told you. His assignment here is finished. He has returned to his rightful place.”

                “He’s gone to Hell,” Glasya crowed, “and he _left you_.”

                Crowley was nearly exhausted from scraping at the door hinges with his nails. He stopped and listened to the following silence.

                In the other room, Aziraphale was frowning. “What do you mean?” he asked in a quiet voice. “How could he have finished? I thought he was meant to do Hell’s work on Earth, which could hardly be finished. Was that not his assignment?”

                “Funny you should ask, angel. But why would I tell you?” Aamon took a few paces towards Aziraphale. “Which brings to mind another question. What business could you have, Principality, here, at a demon’s residence?”

                “Oh.” It occurred to Aziraphale for the first time that the demons in front of him were not the only ones whose actions seemed questionable. “I’ve, er. Well, yes, I’ve. Um. I’ve come to smite him. Obviously.”

                “Smiting,” Aamon said drily. “Is that what they’re calling it these days? Back when I was stationed on earth, they called it—“

                Crowley winced as he heard the word through the door. Aziraphale’s shocked gasp followed it.

                “Good _gracious!_ Why, I, I—“

                “Do stop sputtering.”

                “Nonsense, I never—what _could_ you be implying, the relationship between myself and the demon Crowley—“

                “Enough!”

                Behind his door, Crowley had sunk to his knees. He leaned his forehead against the door and groaned. Aamon’s enraged voice came through loud and clear, as well as the sounds of Aziraphale’s interrupted protests.

                “Do you think we really don’t know what your ‘relationship’ is?” Aamon growled. “We may know it better than you do. We created it! You fool. You pathetic sycophant of Heaven. You really thought a demon would talk to you voluntarily? That _anyone_ would put up with your nonsense, much less him? Demons do not _care!_ ”

                “I—Oh.”

                “The demon Crowley has not been interacting with you based off of any sentimental feelings you may believe he has somehow, magically, become capable of. He has not been wasting his time on earth. No, he has been serving the cause of evil, as he was meant to do. We have no choice.”

                “You don’t?”

                “No,” Aamon snarled. “He was getting close to you so that he could pass on useful information about your side to ours. He made you trust him so he could betray that trust, as we all inevitably do. You were his assignment, Principality. And now that we see how pitifully useless you are, how unrelated to Heaven’s plans, we are abandoning the mission. He does not need to use you anymore. His mission is complete.”

                Aamon crossed his arms and stepped back to enjoy the damage he had created. Aziraphale was too stricken for words. Aamon’s grin widened.

                Behind the door, Crowley gave an unheard sob.

                Glasya beamed, looking back and forth between demon and angel, waiting for the fallout.

                Aziraphale put a hand to his mouth. His cheeks turned a bit pink. Then, he snickered.

                Aamon scowled. Aziraphale’s snickering got louder. Aamon uncrossed his arms.

                “What?”

                “I’m sorry.” Aziraphale chortled. “Oh, dear. ‘His mission’. It’s like those silly films he made me watch.”

                Crowley blinked. He slowly raised his head.

                “What?” Aamon demanded again.

                “Oh, my.” Aziraphale stifled his laughter and tried to take matters more seriously. “Hm. Well. You’re telling me that he was some sort of secret agent, spying on me?”

                “It shouldn’t be that hard to believe. He was a demon, an agent of Hell! He fooled you!”

                “Crowley?”

                “Yes.”

                “AJ Crowley? The demon who lives here?”

                “Yes. The _serpent_.”

                “Fellow with yellow eyes? Has a bit of a speech impediment when he gets nerv—“

                “Yes, Crawly, the demon, agent of Hell!”

                Aziraphale burst into a whole new fit of giggles. “You—really—must stop using—that word. ‘Agent’, indeed. Those talkies have completely ruined it for me.” He wiped away a tear. “Oh, no. Crowley is not a spy.”

                He looked at the two demons in front of him, and finally stopped laughing for real. “And I want to know why you have been trying so very hard to convince me of such a ridiculous thing.”

                Aamon was staring at him with his mouth gaping and with flames in his eyes. Aziraphale simply regarded him coolly. Glasya, however, emerged from her silent audience. She pointed a finger at the angel.

                “And we would like to know,” she said, “why you have decided to place so much confidence in a _demon_.”

                Aziraphale realized the flaw in his response. Aamon cackled.

                “That’s right! Why were you here in the first place? You can deny our claims about the serpent, but your claims about your relationship with him are dubious. You’ve incriminated yourself, angel.”

                “Angels ain’t supposed to be friends with demons,” Glasya added.

                “You think there’s something between the two of you,” Aamon said. “Whether or not you’ll believe that he’s been using you, you can’t possibly think he actually feels the same way you do? But, regardless, your being on such good terms with a demon will definitely be of interest to your superiors.” He stroked his beard. “If I can’t take down that bloody serpent, I might as well eliminate you, instead. Getting an angel in trouble might be enough to win me back my former rank.”

                Aziraphale had been planning on denying it. He was going to make up some silly story about how this was the first time he had ever been in Crowley’s flat, thank goodness he had finally found it, now he could smite his opponent once and for all. But as he looked at the demons in front of him, and saw the demand for destruction in their eyes—heard the loathing in his voice when Aamon said ‘serpent’—Aziraphale decided to change his tactics.

                He frowned. The atmosphere shifted once more. The demons sensed it, and both of them took a step back. The angel’s corporation did not change, but he seemed to tower over them.

                “Do you really think,” he said, “that the two of you were the first to notice?”

                Glasya took another step back, tripped over Aamon’s foot, and fell to the floor. Aamon was frozen.

                “Do you really believe,” Aziraphale went on, “that Heaven turned a blind eye to an angel and a demon spending time together, for no reason? You tried to convince me that Crowley was a part of some trivial plan, an imaginary mission from Hell. Crowley is part of a plan that is much bigger than that.”

                Aziraphale was glowing now, with a light that even humans could see. Demons found it nearly blinding.

                “Hell is not the highest power, remember that. There are plans the likes of which you could not even conceive. Plans that are much more _ineffable_. Crowley and I have been talking, yes, and Heaven is perfectly aware. We are working together on a ‘mission’ with which underlings such as the two of you certainly would not be involved. So, if you please. Be good little low-level ‘agents of Hell’. And keep your noses out of business that does not concern you!”

                The demons made to scram. Glasya was gone in a flash, popped out the window as a fly and vanished into the London air. Aziraphale grabbed Aamon’s arm before he could change his corporation completely, and he was stuck, his arm still human-sized, the rest of him melting into something smaller.

                “Where is Crowley?”

                Aamon pointed at the bedroom door with a half-sized thumb, then he managed to wriggle his way out of Aziraphale’s grasp. Aziraphale tried to catch him, but he was too slow. Aamon was out the door behind him before the angel could blink. Then, the room was empty, except for himself.

                Aziraphale wasted no time. He walked over to the bedroom door and opened it.

                Crowley had been kneeling with his ear pressed against it, listening. He had forgotten to stand up. He fell forward at Aziraphale’s ankles as the door swung away.

                Aziraphale crouched down to look at him, assessing his state of health. When he saw that there were no catastrophic injuries, he helped Crowley to his feet. He held him by the shoulders for a moment, running his eyes up and down, seeing that Crowley was unharmed. He let him go.

                “How did they get you locked in that room?”

                “Er.” Crowley had to fight to form sentences, his mind still in a state of shock. “Holy water. Speaking of, there’s, erm, something by the back of that chair over there. Would you mind getting rid of it for me?”

                Aziraphale nodded. He examined the door to Crowley’s bedroom. “I suppose you’ll want those anti-demon spells gone as well?” He waved his hand, and Crowley felt the curse being lifted from the room behind him.

                “Um. Yes. Thank you.”

                Aziraphale had gone to pick up the spray bottle. He emptied it out the window, took a look at the thing, then dumped the bottle, as well—after making sure there were no pedestrians down below, of course. When he turned back, Crowley was looking at him earnestly.

                “I mean it,” he said. “Thank you. For, all that.”

                Aziraphale smiled at him, and Crowley finally dared to breathe.

                “Their argument was absurd,” Aziraphale said. He walked towards Crowley’s kitchen. Crowley followed him and saw that he had pulled together everything he needed to make tea, which included several items he was pretty sure he hadn’t owned. Especially the tartan tea cozies. “As though you had been spying on me, all this time. We’ve known each other for millennia. And it’s not like you could have started working for them recently. After what happened with Adam—well, you were clearly going against Hell’s orders, then. So it hardly makes sense that you would be their most trusted agent now.” He turned and smiled at him again. “Besides. I trust you.”

                Crowley took a deep breath. Maybe now would be as good a time as any. “Thank you,” he said. Aziraphale had busied himself with the tea again, but it was easier not having to look him in the eyes. “Aziraphale, I….” Crowley stared at the intricate pattern on the china, watched as Aziraphale poured tea into one of the cups. “I’m glad you didn’t believe them. The things they said—“

                “Were nonsensical,” Aziraphale said with a nod. “Really, Crowley, you don’t have to tell me. It’s almost comical, what they were implying. As though you had been sent to spy on me. It’s almost as ridiculous as the _other_ implications they were making about us.”

                Crowley froze. Aziraphale had finished the tea. He held out a saucer and cup for him. Crowley stared at the angel with wide eyes.

                “Well, never mind,” Aziraphale said. “What should we do to keep those two from coming back? I thought Adam said Hell would leave you alone. Does this mean you’ll be in danger from other demons as well?”

                Crowley shook his head. After a moment, he managed to choke out, “Rogues. Erm, they’re going against Hell’s orders. It’ll just be the two of them.”

                “I see. In that case, I’ll inform the others of my side who are stationed on earth that two demons are being particularly infectious. They should be taken care of.”

                Crowley looked down. He noticed that Aziraphale was still holding out the tea for him. He sighed and took it, but didn’t drink it. When he looked back up, Aziraphale’s expression was sympathetic.

                “We’ll have this worked out,” he said. “You’ll see.”

                “Right.” The serpent gave half a smile. “You know me. I’d never let two rage-fueled maniacs out for my blood bring me down. Won’t let them get to _me_.”

                “Good. Neither will I. Trust me.”

                Crowley nodded. He met the angel’s eyes for a second, then looked down and took a sip of his tea.

**Author's Note:**

> Both of these demons were based in part off of descriptions on Wikipedia.  
> Aamon, supposedly, ’reconcileth both freends and foes’ and is supposed to ‘procure love for those seeking it.’ Not what he meant to do, but irony is great.  
> Glasya is based on Glasya Labolas, who ‘gains the minds and love of friends and foes causing love among them if desired’. Again. I like irony.
> 
> I am working on a follow-up to this story, so stay tuned!


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